


Photocopied Soul

by Chexie



Category: Yuppie Psycho (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Vomiting, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26715559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chexie/pseuds/Chexie
Summary: Miss Sosa had told him that using Witch Paper as he had been would mean he was nothing if not bound to become one of Her children, the news putting him off from using it at all, regardless of the security it had given him.Still, he did want to be able to save those that had gone missing...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Photocopied Soul

Absentmindedly, he flicked his flashlight on and off.

Brain Pasternack. That’s all he was before today. Just some poor sap in Class G wanting to do something meaningful to help support his family. 

Then that fucking letter showed up. 

His glance shifted over to the briefcase set down on the stairs next to him. That letter alone put so much weight in that case, not that anything in it was that heavy to begin with. 

But who was he now?

The Witch Hunter. End of Story. 

If he was smart, he would’ve tried to leave when he had the chance. At the rate he was going, his options were either find Rei Sintra, or die trying.

Judging by the state of the other Hunter(‘)s (bodies) he’d found though…

Unless…?

Absentmindedly, he flicked his flashlight on and off.

The photocopier across from him was once again revealed in the light. The soft red glow from its control panel was noticeable either way. He could load it up with ink- while the Dot Matrix had crushed his supply, the brief raid he pulled on Doshi’s old ‘shop’ yielded at least one for him to use. 

He didn’t know if he wanted to try. 

A shaky breath passed his lips. He had been avoiding them since Sosa had mentioned that regularly using Witch Paper as he had been was effectively serving his soul to Her on a silver platter. 

Briefly, he mused. 

He’d been able to recover his soul before. It didn’t feel good. 

One moment, he felt the pain of the Dot Matrix’s needle, piercing straight through his skull, digging right to his brain. There was a moment of nothing. He felt his body drop, yes, but as soon as the contact was made… Nothing. An empty void met him, and that was it.

Yet the next thing he knew, he was back. Back in front of the photocopier right next to its lair. Back in the living world. Yet he still felt that pain digging straight through his skull- digging through to his brain. It was dull, but it was there. Like a headache he couldn’t do anything about.

But if he did it here, he’d have a way to recover- to give himself more chances to bring everything back to normal.

His lips pressed to a fine line. 

What if he was on the breaking point?

Without thinking, his fingers started lingering over his face. An injury usually appeared before you were… taken… by Her, right?

_“Inay.”_

_Compared to everything else happening, his voice was incredibly soft, nigh audible, even._

_“I’m sorry?”_

_“My- My name is Inay Doshi.”_

_His words came out just a bit too quick for his liking._

_Doshi brought his hand down, and even as he was bathed in the crimson light from the glowstick next to his heel, the trail slowly trickling down from his ear was noticeable, the occasional glint of light bouncing off it._

_“My ears are going to explode, bro. Wha-What’s going on?”_

Pasternack swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. Considering what happened to Doshi- let alone everyone else… The complete immobility, the sunken red stains where the bandaged figures ears should be. The way it had just fallen over, writhing and wriggling, as if trying to reach for him, those unholy croaks passing through the chasm in its face he could only call a mouth.

If he ended up like that, what would happen?

There wouldn’t be anyone to jam a plastic knife in his neck to free him. 

Absentmindedly, he flicked his flashlight on and off. 

Then, he stopped. His thumb rested on the switch. Another heavy breath passed his lips. One he didn’t realize he was holding in. With a flick of his wrist, he opened his briefcase, flitting through everything in it before pulling out a single sheet of Witch Paper and the last ink cartridge he had.

Nervously, he plugged in the cartridge, the small light on the photocopier’s control panel flicking to a green shade. The Witch Paper had comfortably slid into the paper tray as was expected, but when he lifted the photocopier’s lid, he hesitated. 

The hesitation didn’t last, however, as before he could even register it his head was slammed into the photocopier’s glass. He struggled, trying to push himself away from it, though, his left hand was pressed just as hard against the glass as his head was, if not harder. His free hand pushed against the side of the copier, trying to get any sort of hold but failing. 

His breathing quickened, feeling claustrophobic. The barrel of his chest was firmly pressed against the control panel, pressure not helping the ease of breathing. A sickly bitter bile built up in his throat, panic settling in quicker and quicker as it felt like a third hand had come onto him, gently and slowly putting pressure on his windpipe, keeping him from screaming.

Not that anyone would be around to help, anyway.

The blinding light of the copier passed by his face. He only continued to struggle, one of the unseen hands pressing his hand harder into the glass, an unmistakable ‘crick’ of the glass cracking echoing in the empty stairwell. With little else to do, he began kicking, only to not make contact with anything. 

And then everything stopped.

Any sensations of hands on his body were gone, letting him fall back on the floor. He coughed, coughed and coughed, until the build up of sick in his throat released, causing him to vomit.

He was hyperventilating now, not even acknowledging the fresh gash in his knuckle. Quickly, he scrambled for the flashlight that had cluncked against the floor, searching around the stairwell only to see nothing different. 

Pasternack took the copied paper and tucked it into his briefcase. He was still alive, still had control of his body. At this point he had no choice but to finish things, lest he remain stuck in this loop forever.


End file.
